An Imprecise Branch of NonMagic
by cloudwalk
Summary: Dumbledore and McGonagall bet on the outcome of a relationship between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger. DM/HG
1. First Year

_First Year_

"I don't see why you always think you're right, Albus," Minerva McGonagall observed, as they stood in his study watching the fleet of first-years approach Hogwarts in their boats.

"Allow me the liberty, Minerva," Albus Dumbledore replied in return, giving her a little bow with a twinkle in his eyes, "of claiming that having a –ah!- somewhat greater intelligence than the common man, my guesses nearly always turn out right."

"I suppose so," McGonagall sighed. "Still, I must warn you that any more matchmaking attempts and Lucius Malfoy, for one, will attempt to remove you as Headmaster."

"I hardly think that requires any action on my part," Dumbledore remarked. "He's always been rather eager to present arguments against me. There are some in this world who do not appreciate a love for Muggles as much as I do."

"And still you attempt this!" McGonagall's nostrils flared, as they always did when presented with arguments that did not hold water. As a woman who held logic and preciseness above everything else, she did not care very much about matchmaking.

"And still I attempt this, yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Something tells me that Miss Granger and the young Mr. Malfoy will be rather compatible."

"Do you want to bet on it?" The side of her mouth twitched. Really, Dumbledore could be ridiculous at times. Betting on first-years! Matchmaking a Pureblood with Death Eater parents and a Muggle-born!

"I would love to," Dumbledore said, turning to her. "The winnings?"

"If I win, you will never again send me cat food for Christmas," McGonagall replied archly. The imprudence!

"Of course."

"And you?"

"How about sherbet lemons?" The idea of Minerva McGonagall heading to a Muggle convenience store and fiddling with Muggle money was rather amusing. Dumbledore chuckled.


	2. Second Year

_Second Year_

Dumbledore observed Lucius Malfoy across his desk. The man was positively brimming to say something seething, and Dumbledore enjoyed the little show with a twinkle of his eye and twiddle of his thumbs.

"I must say, Headmaster," Malfoy said, returning as he usually did when at a lack of things to say to the initial argument, his words painted, "that the Board does not, ah- _agree_with the way you handled the situation last year. As you say," and here again he gave a little unctuous nod of the head, "the Dark Lord has risen again."

"Not risen, quite entirely," Dumbledore replied gravely. "I have canvassed this many times with you, Lucius. He may not be at his fullest power yet, but the time will come when he does, and Hogwarts must be ready for it."

"And all this at the word of a First Year? I had thought better of your credibility."

"I did not say you did. But I place my utmost trust in Harry Potter. And as I have not disclosed all of what happened to the school, I see no reason for the Board to interfere."

"Interfere!" Malfoy's nostrils flared, and he tapped his cane on the floor.

"Yes, interfere," Dumbledore said. "Unless, of course, your real issue, or the one that you raised to the Board, is that of me giving points to Gryffindor, and making them win the House Cup. Your son, Draco, is in Slytherin this year, I believe…"

* * *

><p>"You believe?" McGonagall cried. "You <em>know<em>, Albus, as if you have not been meddling in his affairs for a whole year or more already."

"I should have known you would pick up that point of the conversation first, Minerva," Dumbledore said, chuckling. "Are we to pick up that old argument again?"

"_Yes_," McGonagall replied vehemently. "Insisting as you do to place the Gryffindors and Slytherins together in as many classes as possible, making _me_have to run around all over the place when mishaps as you very well predicted happen every single lesson, what with boils and fights and falls!" Her chest heaved with the memory of the fatigue of last year. "Give the match up!"

"But have you really observed them, Minerva?" Dumbledore said softly. "She is not as quick to dismiss him as Harry and Ronald, and while he may tease and pull at her hair all he likes I sense there is nothing more to it than immaturity and, perhaps, a childish curiosity that may grow into something yet."

"And how have you seen this, may I ask?"

"I do not need cloaks to become invisible, Minerva."  
>"Spying from the portraits! I should have known."<p>

* * *

><p>"He called her a <em>Mudblood<em>, Headmaster," Minerva cried, reverting to title as she did when extremely agitated. "_Mudblood!_The little slime! Exposing them, young as they are, to such atrocities, such vagaries, such prejudices! You had hoped, I grant you that, that placing them together would ease the animosity, would encourage friendship. A small hope, if any at that! And now it has been dashed!" She collapsed into the chair by Dumbledore's desk.

"There is still hope," Dumbledore said softly.

"No! I will not let you, Albus," Minerva said strongly. "She is our best student yet. What other foolish matchmaking tricks have you up your sleeve? I will not have you marring her childhood so early with such names, and evil."

"But she may be exposed to them too soon without your liking it or not," Dumbledore replied sadly. He turned his back to her and watched the wind stir the waters of the lake outside. "Arrange a Duelling Club."

* * *

><p><strong>what do you think of the story so far? i'm not very sure how it will turn out myself; it started off as a response to a dramione fanfic contest on the prompt 'betting' (which i forgot to submit this for, by the way- the irony!) and now i'm just warming up my writing before nanowrimo starts in 4 days.<br>**


	3. Second Year  Alternate

_Second Year_

"What about side bets?"

"Side bets."

"Yes, side bets... I suggest a little challenge every year, make little arrangements here and there, we make bets on the outcome," Dumbledore said. It was over staff dinner, and the very way in which the Headmaster carved his beef suggested pure enjoyment in the direction the conversation had taken.

"You can't be serious, Albus." The woman who sat at his right couldn't have been any more different. Her knife still hovered over the plate, wrists paused in action so she could give Dumbledore a sceptical look right in the eye. Sceptical looks right on target were something Minerva McGonagall rather prided herself on.

So was being right. The previous year, she and the Headmaster had placed bets on the outcome of a romantic relationship between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, first-years from opposing houses and backgrounds- and Minerva was a hundred percent sure nothing would come of it. In fact, the very idea of a placing a bet on a definite outcome was ludicrous. At least she'd never get cat food again for Christmas.

_Just six more years!_

Instead of answering her directly, Albus reached for some mashed potatoes, dragging his long velvet sleeves through gravy in the process. As he considered this mishap gravely, he said, "A Duelling Club might just be the answer this year. Yes, I'd like to see Mr Malfoy handle that..."

"A Duelling Club." As she spoke, Minerva became horribly aware that she was just repeating everything he said, albeit in a tone of scandalized scepticism.

"Yes. But that will all have to depend on our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, won't it?" With a wave of his wand, Albus siphoned the gravy off his sleeves and shook them out. "Oh, I do hope Gilderoy lives up to his resume. Look, dessert!"


	4. Third Year

_Third Year_

The grounds were quiet, black. At ten, as was his custom, Argus Filch had made his rounds, polishing errant suits of armour and prowling the borders of the Forest. The students had not yet come back from their holidays, and as such by eleven most of the lights in the castle were out. All but one.

Laughter rang throughout the Headmaster's Study, bouncing off the walls, made golden by the twinkling candle lights. Momentarily distracted from the administrative fracas that ensued after Harry Potter's last adventure, Albus Dumbledore sat in reminiscent conversation with his newly engaged Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus Lupin.

"And then James slipped his Cloak off his head, and the first-year screamed!" Remus cried. Albus was chuckling, and Remus almost crying- although from laughter or the bittersweet feeling of remembering his best friend, James Potter, neither knew. "I'll never know why you made me Prefect, Headmaster, I must admit I had a strong hand in the planning of all these pranks."

"As I suspected, Remus- and please, call me Albus. Well, I must admit I'd thought you'd rein them in a bit once made Prefect!"

"Well, I had the same motivations when it came to most of them, Albus," Remus admitted. "Except when it came to Severus Snape- why, he and James had a rivalry like anything! If he knew I'm to be colleagues with Severus this year, James would already be up to his knees in planning of poisons to lace his drinks with."

Albus paused to give Remus an amusedly chastising expression. "I did always wonder at their... rivalry, you call it? I assume it goes beyond house pride?"

"Oh, beyond that, Albus. If you don't mind me saying, it was over Lily that they fought..."

Both men paused, raising their champagne glasses ever slightly as if to acknowledge the constant presence of their late friends in their thoughts. Remus thought he knew where both men had gone –down the path of remembrance- but Albus's thoughts had gone down a fairly different route...

* * *

><p>"It absolutely parallels," Albus remarked.<p>

"True, but Hermione will end up with a Gryffindor, stout of heart, loyal and strong. I see the parallel in _that_."

"But how can you be sure that their ending was the best yet? We are always too apt to declare the past perfect, too ingrained to repeat it."

"Why not, when the past worked as well as it did? Have the events of last year not warned you enough? Draco and Hermione cannot be together. It will not work." Minerva folded her arms.

"We shall see..."

* * *

><p>"Slapped him?"<p>

"Yes, slap! SMACK!" Minerva was almost beside herself with excitement. Albus suspected a kind of vicious reliving in the woman, like Hermione Granger had unknowingly fulfilled a grudge long held by her Transfigurations professor. "I saw it through my window!"

"You know what that means, don't you?"

"Always keen to put an angle on it, aren't you?" she countered suspiciously.

"You put me in the worst light," he chuckled. "Of _course _it means there's repressed sexual tension between them!"

* * *

><p><strong>A string of updates! My writing's a bit off-whack, haven't been doing much for months while catching up on school work but felt highly inspired today to tie up some loose ends. I'm so sorry for leaving you guys hanging! Also apologies for leaving you hanging on writing of <em>this <em>bad quality.**


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